When Worlds Collide
by C. Carman
Summary: The war with Gaea has been long finished. But from the ashes of the war, rise a new enemy. Now the descendants of the gods are on the brink of extinction, fighting to survive. Soon, they will need to take a stand against their greatest enemy yet. Mortals.
1. Scott I

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the universe in which this has been based (even though it is VERY MUCH strayed from his course). That's Rick Riordan's property. Also, some of the characters are not mine, but are original characters created by others, who have given me permission for use.

**I**

**SCOTT**

**Scott heard the howl of hounds **as the world around him exploded into a storm of bullets and smoke. He heard his sister give out a small shriek and quickly clamped his hand over her mouth, pulling her behind a low wall made of brick.

"Cindy, be quiet! You'll get us caught!"

There were tears in her eyes, and Scott could clearly see that she was scared. She _was_ only 9 after all. Scott should never have brought her with him. But she begged and begged, and Scott didn't have the heart to make her stay back at the motel. They had enough enemies already, and Scott knew they couldn't spare any time or energy fighting amongst themselves. So there Scott sat, holding his baby sister in his arms, comforting her, as the bullet storm raged around them. This all reminded him of a scene long ago bringing a smile to his face. Cindy wiped away her tears and looked up at him.

"Why are you smiling?" She asked softly between hiccups. He kept the smile spread across his lips, glancing down at her.

"Oh...nothing. Just remembering the day you were born, that's all."

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><p><strong>Scott, along with his mother and father, had been avoiding the detection of the "Purists". These self proclaimed "cleansers" had been assigned the task of tracking down and killing any and all descendants of the gods that they could get their hands on. The mortal hunting group had been hot on the family's trail for several days, and Scott could see the fatigue on his parent' faces. They were all in serious need of rest and medical attention, and their only hope for survival was to find someone that his father called 'The Heir to Olympus'.<strong>

**The family kept moving, searching for this 'Heir' throughout the state of Oklahoma. Eventually they found themselves in a city called Bixby, and Scott's father seemed to believe that the place held some significance to this man that they were seeking out. The town seemed dead to Scott, not having the normal hustle and bustle of a city of its size. There were police cruisers everywhere, and Scott's father continued to look around nervously. All of a sudden, Scott's mother halted, groaning and clutching her enlarged stomach. Scott's father stopped dead in his tracks.**

**"Leia, what's wrong?" She looked up at him, an expression of pain covering her face.**

**"Clancy...the...b-baby." That was all she managed to utter. She groaned again. Scott's father hurriedly grabbed her with one hand and Scott with the other.**

**"Come on. We'll find someplace safe." Off they went, Leia groaning and Clancy urging them on. They came to a motel, which was seemingly empty. Clancy broke down the door to one of the rooms and helped his wife and young son inside. The trio squeezed into the bathroom, Clancy softly setting Leia into the bathtub.**

**"You ready hun?" Leia gave a pained nod.**

**Clancy nodded grimly and started digging through a backpack. He quickly found what he was looking for; a small bag filled with pastry-like squares and a canteen filled with some mysterious liquid. Clancy knelt next to his wife, gripping her hand. **

**"This is gunna be painful, not like Scott's birth. All I have are nectar and ambrosia." She gave him another quick nod, biting back the pain. Clancy looked to his only son and nodded towards the other room. Scott left the bathroom and plopped himself onto the twin bed.**

**Over the next few minutes, all Scott heard was scream after scream coming from the bathroom. His mother's shrieks pierced the silent air of the city, and Scott could hear nothing else, aside from the faint sound of sirens in the distance. As time passed, the sirens got louder and Leia's screams lessened, accompanied by another's screams. Those of a baby. Clancy called Scott back into the bathroom. As the screams stopped, Clancy pulled a beautiful baby girl from the bathtub, covered in blood. He quickly wiped the baby off, bundling her in a t-shirt, and handed her over to Scott.**

**"Scott," Clancy said. "This is your sister, Cindy."**

**The sirens were close now, really close. Scott could hear them blaring from the parking lot and Clancy glanced out the window. His expression went dark. He went down to his resting wife, placing his hand on hers. **

**"Honey, there are...at least fifteen squad cars out there. Somewhere around fifty cops and hunters..." Clancy's voice trailed off, and it seemed to Scott that he was very worried. "I...I'll hold them off. You take Scott and Cindy away. Find the 'Heir'. Get somewhere safe." Leia looked at her husband with a look so fierce that Scott couldn't decide if it was rage, or lover, or possibly both. **

**"Clancy Ward. Those men out there are trying to hurt my babies! I. Will. Not. Let. Them."**

**Clancy looked at Leia pleadingly. "But Leia..." Leia interrupted him, her voice softer this time.**

**"No buts. I am fighting, end of story. You cannot convince me otherwise." Clancy looked desperately at Scott, hoping his son could come up with something to sway his mother.**

**"Mom, you just had a baby. You can't go out there!" As if to prove a point, Leia rose from the bathtub, unfazed by the fact that she had just given birth, and stuffed a piece of ambrosia into her mouth.**

**"I'm ready Clancy." Clancy sighed as Leia entered the other room. Squatting down to look his son in the eye, Clancy pulled out a gun of solid gold.**

**"Hey Scott, you remember that day Uncle Gary came over for my 27th birthday?"**

**Scott nodded sadly.**

**"Well, he gave me this. It's a Desert Eagle, see?"**

**Once again, Scott nodded, saying nothing.**

**"Well, Uncle Gary...I don't know where he is anymore, or if he is even alive, but I doubt he would have any objection to me giving this to you." A tear welled up in Clancy's eye, but he brushed it away quickly. "I want you to look after your sister, okay?"**

**Scott opened and closed his mouth. His throat went dry as he struggled for words. "I...I c-cant. I don't want t-"**

**Clancy cut him off. "Of course you can. You're six years old and already a greater warrior than I was in my teen years. You have been trained well. You gotta stay strong Scott. Do it for me. Take care of Cindy, be strong for her." Clancy leaned over and kissed his son of the forehead. "Be strong little man. Make me proud." Scott nodded, unable to speak, and wrapped his father in a hug.**

**Clancy reached into his backpack and removed a green hat, old and worn, and placed it backwards upon his head. "Haven't worn this in ages." He winked at Scott, pressing the bright orange shamrock in the center of the hat. He was quickly enveloped by golden armour, and drew a sword from his waist. He twirled it around a bit, admiring it's golden shine. "Too bad this won't work on mortals. Might've been fun to slice up a few of 'em." He reluctantly sheathed his word, putting on a pair of black sunglasses. "I'll...go get your mother."**

**Leia entered moments later, hot tears rolling down her cheeks. She slowly approached her two children, leaning over to kiss both of them.**

**"I love you two so much...You've gotta be brave Scott. Protect your sister, find the 'Heir'. I believe in you...now go. Hide in the closet, wait for this mess to end, and then sneak out. If...your father and I live...we'll find you, eventually. If not...then you need to be brave honey." Leia hugged Scott tightly, then softly kissed Cindy once more. **

**"_Taim i' ngra leat._" Leia uttered the only Irish phrase she knew, showing her unconditional love for her children. She quickly whirled around, gliding out of the room, holding back tears.**

**Scott quickly dragged all of his things into the closet, holding Cindy tightly in one arm. He slowly placed himself into the dark space, closing the door behind them. He just sat there, listening to the many cries of pain, the sounds of grenades and gunfire, and sick snapping noises. There was an occasional flash of light through the cracks in the door, Scott having to shade his sister's eyes from their father's powers. He kept her quiet, listening intently, when suddenly there was a dead silence. Scott waited. And waited. And waited. Waiting for his parents to return. He longed to feel his mother's warm arms around him again, to hear his father's beautiful laugh. Scott waited longer...but his parents never came...**

* * *

><p>Scott remembered the day he lost his parents so vividly, it was painful. He also remembered another thing. An oath he took, to his father. Official or not, he took it. He swore to his father to protect his sister, no matter what. To be brave for her. And that was what he was going to do. His father was dead, Scott couldn't change that. But he could honor him. Scott wrapped his arms around Cindy, then after a moment, pulled away.<p>

"Cindy, do you remember that trick I taught you? About changing the images around you, to make you seem invisible?" She nodded.

"Okay, then here. Take this." Scott handed her the same gun his father had given him almost ten years before. "I want you to stay invisible. You only use this as a last resort. 'Kay?" Again she nodded, and Scott hugged her. "I'll be back."

Cindy kissed him on the cheek. "Be careful Scott."

Scott slowly rose, surveying the area. The pace of the bullets slowed, but there was still a steady amount of them flying around. Scott saw forty, maybe fifty, men around. _Why the hell do they need fifty guys for the two of us? We're not that important...are we?_ Scott thought to himself. _This is ridiculous! _

Scott steadied his nerves as he slowly slid down the wall, his nimble fingers tapping at his belt. He knew his ADHD was kicking in, as it always did. His father once told him that most people like Scott and his family had some form of the disorder, to help with battle situations. Scott knew sure as Hades that he was gunna need that help right now. As Scott came to the corner of the wall, he took in a deep breath, steeling himself. _3...2...1...GO!_

Scott dove away from the wall, rolling onto one knee. His hands twitched and he allowed his instincts to take control of his body. His hands went to his belt, and two knives slid into his hands automatically, as if he had done it hundreds of times before. Which, of course, he had. Two of the enemy soldiers turned to fire at him, and with a quick flick of Scott's wrists, the throwing knives embedded themselves into the soldiers with deadly precision. They fell with a scream, and Scott quickly scanned the scene. He was in an open courtyard, with the only cover being the wall he and Cindy had been hiding behind. _Not good. Not good at all. _

Scott needed to find an advantage. Mortals or not, they had numbers, and numbers made a difference. The Enemy must have known they were in town. So they sent there best men. Scott couldn't help but worry about that. If the Enemy had spies watching Scott and Cindy...there would be no way to escape them. It would be only a matter of time before they would be taken before the leaders...and then it would be all over. Execution. Torture. Who knows what. But Scott couldn't let that happen.

More soldiers fired at him, and Scott rolled away, rearming himself. This time, it was not knives that fell into place in Scott's ready hands, but a pair of five-pointed stars. _Shuriken_. Scott smiled. This weapon had always been his favorite. It felt like it was just another part of his body, an attachment to what was already there. Scott felt his power run through him, using the one skill his father had managed to teach him with light manipulation before he had died. _Invisibility_.

The instant Scott vanished from sight; he heard commands from a deep voice.

"Cease fire. Smoke grenades!"

Scott scoured the area in search of the commander, his eyes landing on a large man wearing a general's uniform. He was about 6'5, bald, and of African-American descent. He stood there, screaming at his troops, his officers trying to keep up with his commands. Scott's expression hardened. As far as he was concerned, that was his biggest enemy, his first priority. _Take out the commander, and any army can crumble. Fall into chaos._ That was something his father had once told him during one of their many lessons on military tactics. His father's time in the Twelfth Legion had really developed his skills, and in turn, had allowed him to pass on some of his knowledge to Scott. It was things like that, the small things that had allowed Scott to survive and protect his sister. Even with the destruction of Camp Jupiter at the hands of the mortal armies, the Roman legacy would never die, as long as children like Scott and Cindy lived to carry it on. At this point, that legacy was as important to Scott as it was to anyone else, and he was determined to live here, to carry on the name of his father, and the name of the Twelfth.

Scott fired both shuriken at the large commander, the first narrowly missing his head. The man looked up, startled, just as the second one, with a sickening crunch, tore deep into his left thigh. The man howled with pain, screaming at his troops once-more.

"Fire at will!"

The battle was a standstill for a while, neither side having victory in sight. Scott would dodge, with some soldiers firing randomly at the invisible boy. He slowly picked them off, one by one, but was getting tired, fast. Victory was possible for him, that was, until he ran out of knives. Scott desperately searched for a new weapon. Suddenly, pain erupted in his left shoulder, a bullet ripping straight through it. Scott dropped to his knees, overcome by the pain, his vision blurring. He was losing energy, and his invisibility began to wear off, making him an easy target for the professional marksmen shooting at him. The remained soldiers aimed at Scott, firing off a few more rounds, one hitting him in the left foot. Scott cried out with pain just as the commander raised his hand for the soldiers to cease firing.

"No, hold you fire! I want to kill this one _myself_!"

Scott sighed, closing his eyes. He felt the vibration of the commander walking towards him in his black combat boots. _Thump...Thump...Thump...Thump._ The sound stopped, and Scott slowly opened his eyes.

The commander glared down at him, smirking. The shuriken still stuck out from his thigh. _How is this guy even **walking?**_

"Hello, scum. Nice arm you've got." He scowled, looking down at the ninja star an inch deep in his skin. He pulled a pistol from it's holster on his waist and cocked it. He pressed it to Scott's forehead savagely, breaking his skin. With a sick smile, he used the oldest cliche in the book.

"Any last words, punk?" Scott noticed movement on the roof to his left. He saw a tall kid with jet black hair, a bow slung over his back, jumping from roof to roof. Suddenly the boy stopped and turned, appearing to have found the spot he wanted. He unslung his bow, nocking an arrow. The arrow was of intricate design, probably homemade, with a blue head. The boy winked at Scott, and Scott started to laugh, spitting blood onto the ground. The general looked confused, and kicked Scott in the gut.

"What are you laughing at?" Scott looked up at him with a smirk.

"Oh, I was just wondering...whether you liked the color blue or not. I imagine it would look good on you." Scott slowly brought his arm up, pointing his blooding hand at the man's large chest. "Maybe some...right here."

The man swatted away Scott's hand, scowling with outrage. Scott took the chance while the man wasn't focused. Scott brought his hand up in a clenched fist. He punched the shuriken in the man's thigh, digging it deeper into the man's flesh, while also cutting open Scott's hand. The man stumbled backwards, roaring in pain. He slowly steadied himself, raising his gun to aim at Scott again. Scott crawled backwards as the man fired, the bullet missing Scott by a hair. Scott heard a whistling sound in the air, followed by a frightening _schlick_! Scott turned to find the man standing there, mumbling incoherently to himself, a blue arrow protruding from his chest. Scott rose unsteadily, stumbling backwards. Lightening crackled in the air, a huge bolt shot down frying the general where he stood. The summoned blast sent Scott flying backwards.

That's when the others attacked. They came flying from nowhere, the lightening blast obviously serving as a sign to commence the battle. Scott tried to take it all in, but he was losing blood. _A lot_ of blood. He pulled out a small flask, filled with nectar, and poured it over his wounds, closing them. He then downed the remaining healing substance. His vision cleared and he saw the battle raging before him.

Of the new attackers, or rescuers from Scott's point of view, there were four. There was the boy with the bow, who was firing arrows off at enemies from the rooftops, not missing his targets once. To his left, Scott saw a _very_ tall man using a weird looking purple sword. He slashed at one of the soldiers, but the rifleman didn't fall. Instead, he turned and fired at his allies, killing a few before he was shot himself. Next to tall man was another adult, working furiously, stabbing and slashing with dual swords, as well as swatting them with a large lance. The final savior was another teenager,, about the bow boy's age, using a glowing blue trident. He skewered a couple of the mortals with ease, eyes filled with madness. They moved quickly as a group, and the Enemy's soldiers stood no chance.

The army, now without its leader, quickly fell into chaos as the four warriors easily picked them apart. Soon after, only ten or so soldiers remained, running for their lives. The archer boy quickly finished them off, landing arrows in their backs. Scott scurried around gathering his knives.

The group approached them, sheathing their weapons. The two boys chatted excitedly as they walked, probably bragging about the different types of kills they got. Scott quickly arranged the knives on his belt, turning to speak with the men.

The tall man looked down at Scott. "What in the hell were you thinkin' kid? You almost got yourself killed. You can't just try and take on an entire army by yourself! If we hadn't been around...Commander Jerk-Face would've executed you without a second thought." The man spoke with authority, but his tone was also mixed with comedy, as if he knew how to lead, but was always up for a good time. The man's voice threatened Scott a bit, and his thoughts immediately went to Cindy. Scott gripped his knives. The man quickly raised his hands in surrender.

"Whoa. _Whoa! _Calm down...Look, I didn't mean any offense. It's just really dangerous for us nowadays, especially kids. With the gods not having demigod children anymore...every one of us that dies is a threat to our extinction. I would hate to see the Enemy take down another of us, especially one so young." The man smiled. "What's your name son?"

Scott eyed the man suspiciously. He didn't know who he could trust anymore. Only Cindy. She was the only one who he could rely on, all day, every day. He spoke up to the man, voice free of fear and doubt. "If you'd like to exchange names, I'll have yours first." The man grinned.

"Fair enough...The name's Dennis Ward. And this is my son Wyatt." He pointed to the bow who had been using the blue trident. The boy nodded, a proud smile spread across his lips. Scott noticed the similarities between the two. The curly dark hair, purplish eyes, and the excessive height. The boy had to be at least 6'1, while the man looked to be almost 7'0. Dennis pointed to the other man. "This is-"

"Alex Courtenay." The other man cut Dennis off, sticking his hand out to Scott. "And _that_ is my son, Blake."

The bow boy's name is Blake, Scott noted. He also looked a great deal like his father. He was an inch shorter than Wyatt, with jet black hair, tan skin, and golden eyes. His eyes seemed to be the only difference from his father, who had stormy grey ones. Scott looked to Blake, smiling.

"Thank you for saving my life."

The boy smirked. "Oh that? That was nothing. Just a bit of target practice. The guy made an easy target anyway. There was this time that Wyatt and I-" His father cut him off.

"Now is not the time for stories Blake." Alex looked to Scott, stroking his stubbly chin. Scott noticed Blake roll his eyes from behind his father, and had to resist the temptation to laugh. Alex continued.

"Now. We have given our names. What would be yours?"

Scott nodded. They held up their end, so he saw no reason to fear them any longer. "My name is Scott. Scott Ward."

The two adult's stared at him, wide-eyed. "Scott Ward...as in..._Clancy's_ son?" Dennis asked. It wasn't until that moment that Scott made the connection. _Ward. The man's name is Ward._ Scott nodded.

Dennis just stood there, dumbfounded. "But...I haven't talked to him in almost ten years. You must be what, fourteen now?"

"Fifteen." Scott corrected. "But, why? Who was my father to you?" Scott asked the question, knowing the answer before Dennis even responded. He could see the facial resemblance between Dennis and his father, and they even acted a bit similar. And the Irish accent _did not_ help things.

Dennis smiled. "Clancy is my brother. Twin brother actually. He fell off the grid a while ago. He must have been trying to protect you and your mother. I just wish I knew-"

Gunshots rang out, and all five men turned towards the location of the sound. _The brick wall_. A high-pitched shriek followed, and Scott took off towards the wall, vaulting over it easily. He found his sister crying over a pair of mortal police officers, each with a bullet in their chest. Cindy sat there, untouched, and covered with their blood.

"Cin...what happened?" The other four showed up at that point, and Cindy looked up at all five of them, tears filling her eyes.

"They...they tried to grab me. I couldn't j-just...l-let them take me. I-I couldn't."

Wyatt spoke up. "So you shot them." Cindy nodded. Wyatt erupted into laughter, obviously impressed. "I like this girl already!" Blake smacked him in the back of his head, and whispered something to him. Wyatt straightened. "Oh...right. Sorry."

Scott looked at them all solemnly. "Look guys. my sister and I really need to go. We can't stop. As much as you are my uncle and all, we have someone to find. My father said he could keep us safe."

Dennis raised an eyebrow. "Who would that be?"

Scott spoke the name automatically, though it had no meaning to him, except safety. "The 'Heir to Olympus'."

Alex and Dennis made eye contact, promptly erupting into hysterical laughter. "Clancy still uses that name? That was just a joke we used to use!"

Scott, confused, nodded hesitantly.

Alex grinned widely. "Well, you're looking right at him!"

Scott blinked slowly, processing the information. He began to laugh. "You?"

Alex nodded. Scott sighed happily. He had had the goal for so long; it seemed unattainable until that very moment.

"Well, I guess we go with you then. Where to?" Alex began to speak, but was interrupted by loud laughter and clapping. But it wasn't good laughter. It sounded...powerful. Maniacal.

"_Well done...well done indeed._" Those were the last words that Scott heard before he felt a sharp pain to the back of his head, and the whole world went black.


	2. Blake II

**Author's Note**: Compared to last chapter, this one had quite a bit more words than the inital first chapter. After I updated, now it is a bit more, but not crazy more. I'd like to say I can give an estimate for the word count of the other chapter, but sadly, I cannot. Anyways, I introduce a few more characters, some who will become very big later on. Maybe you can figure out who, maybe not. Also I drop some hints for people who will show up later, try and guess in the meantime!

**Disclaimer:** Am I Riordan? NOPE. Therefore the universe does not belong to me. Also, I do not own Utica College, and I actually don't know who does, but I hope they don't mind their little appearance in the chapter! As with last chapter, some characters are mine, some are not.

**Word Count:** 5,141

**II**

**BLAKE**

**Blake ducked as the black shield flew through the air.** The large disk, as black as night, soared through the sky, connecting with the skull of the ginger-haired teen. The world around them suddenly was shrouded by shadow, even though the sun was high in the sky. A cruel laugh rang from behind Blake, and he turned to find the attacker, but saw nothing, save the darkness. His hand went to his quiver, drawing a mortal arrow, with a steel head. He knocked the arrow, searching for a target. A rough voice came from the shadows, and Blake froze.

"_Dwayne, Dev. Vos duos pugna puerorum. Nathan, consequeretur puella. Ego tractare filius Zeus._" Blake could not understand anything that was being spoken. The language was completely foreign to him. Was that Latin? Blake heard from his father that there were Roman children of the gods, and that they spoke Latin, but he never had witnessed it himself.

"_Nimirum, Pater._" Three figures spoke in synchronization, emerging from the shadows. The first two were mirror images of each other, obviously twins. They looked to be about seventeen or eighteen years old, with long blonde hair, coal-black eyes and pale skin. The third was smaller, probably ten or eleven years old. He wore a black beanie, black hoodie, and his grey eyes burned with malice towards the young girl that stood over the red haired teen.

Another voice spoke up, this one in English. "Mr. Coll, do not forget who is in charge here." Once again, Blake couldn't understand the response, but judging by the tone, it wasn't very friendly.

A pair of men appeared, advancing from the shadows. Blake turned his gaze to them, bow at the ready. His arm, both tight and relaxed, pulled the arrow taut, firing at the first man. He was still partially enveloped by the shadows, and the arrow flew directly at a dark area near his eyes. He ducked, snarling, narrowly avoiding the wooden missile. The man snickered, and slipped back into the shadows. Out of the corner of his eye, Blake noticed a large black object barreling through the air towards him.

Blake woke with a start, screaming out in pain and fear. There was _Thump!_ And Blake noticed the faint blue glow of Wyatt's trident.

"Blake, you good?" Wyatt's worried face lit up with the blue light, his face wrinkled in a frown. Blake didn't respond. "Another nightmare?"

This time, Blake nodded, running his hands through his hair, his breath slowing steadily. "Same as the rest. Except, this time, I got a name. Coll. One of them said Coll." Blake ran through the dream again, telling Wyatt every last detail.

"Hmm. Your dreams seem to be getting clearer. Do you suppose these are like the others? Prophetic and all?" Wyatt rubbed his chin, contemplating the situation. "I think we should talk to our dads. I'm sure they would want to know."

After a long pause, Blake nodded in agreement. "They should know. If the dreams are true, then we need to act on them." After another pause, Blake rose from his bed, and found the light switch on the wall. He flipped it on, and his room was flooded with light. Blake closed his eyes, adjusting to the new radiance. Tentatively opening his eyes, he found that he could see through the excessive shine. His eyes turned to Wyatt, who was standing before him, with his large 6'1 frame, wearing nothing but bright magenta boxer shorts.

"Come on man, put on some clothes!"

"Um...it was you that woke me up at 3 am. You're gonna complain that I don't look as gorgeous as usual?" Wyatt emphatically batted his eyelashes at him in mock flirtatiousness.

Blake swung his hand at Wyatt, playfully whacking the back of his head. Wyatt chuckled, and swung back at Blake, connecting with his jaw. Blake lifted his hands, ready to swing back, but Wyatt stopped him.

"Hey, hey, hey. You swung at me, so I swung back. Only fair." Wyatt walked over to closet, pulling out some clothes. "I'm gonna hop in the shower. When I'm out, we'll go talk to your dad."

Blake nodded, and Wyatt walked into the bathroom, the door closing behind him. Blake strolled over the closet, pulling out some clothes for himself. He quickly got dressed, putting the white t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers on. Now fully dressed, Blake plopped down onto his bed, lost in thought. He hated seeing himself like this, all weak and vulnerable. It didn't make any sense! _He_ was supposed to be the one, helping Wyatt out, not the other way around. Blake was the outgoing one, the caretaker. Wyatt was just so quiet with most people, it wasn't logical that Wyatt was always helping him so much. Sure, Wyatt was older and all, but not by much. It made no real difference. Blake punched the wall, leaving a few cracks. He felt the tension release from his body.

As much as it annoyed him to feel the way he did, he was glad to have Wyatt around. They had grown up together, lived in the same house for seventeen years. It was no random occurrence that they had become the best of friends, brothers in the war effort. Blake heard a door open, and Wyatt emerged from the bathroom, pulling a blue camouflage cap over his short black curls.

"Yo Blake, you ready to go? Knowing our parents, they're still up now anyway."

Blake nodded, standing up. He walked over to the door, turned the handle, and left the room, Wyatt following. They slowly crept down the dark hallway, eventually arriving at Alex and Savannah's bedroom. Wyatt reached up and knocked on the door.

_Knock. Knock. Knock._ No answer.

Blake and Wyatt turned to each other, and spoke in unison. "The War Room." Blake frowned. Under normal circumstances, the only room in the house that Blake and Wyatt weren't allowed to enter was the War Room. But these weren't normal circumstances. Nor did Blake or Wyatt care for rules like that. They respected them, yes. But in no case did they like it, and took every opportunity to overlook such restrictions. Blake nodded his head towards the direction of the War Room, and the duo headed that way.

Along the way, Wyatt and Blake chatted, admiring the pictures along the walls. The pictures were all of those who had been killed in the genocide that the mortals called "The Great Cleansing". Their parents called this area of the house the "Hall of Remembrance". Blake stopped, pointing to one that his father had shown him long ago.

In the photo, a muscular man, with dark hair and scars covering his body, stood in the full Imperial armor of a Roman Centurion. His left hand was on the hilt of a sword, one that glinted multiple colors. His other hand was on the shoulder of a young girl, maybe six or seven, who Blake assumed was his daughter. She had long dark brown hair, and her hazel eyes glinted with pride as she held a golden dagger, cradling it as if it were a baby. At the man's feet there was a toddler, playing with little toy soldiers, just laughing away. He had remarkable resemblances to his father, aside from the scars. The three of them were just laughing, happy to be around each other. Blake's eyes moved from the picture to the golden plaque underneath.

_**Lucius Darrow**_

_**Son of Mars**_

_**(1994-2026)**_

Wyatt walked up behind Blake, placing his hand on Blake's shoulder.

"Blake, you alright?"

"Yeah. I'm good. It's just that...they seem so happy. I just can't help but wonder, what would life be like if we weren't in this war? Would we be happy like them? Would we be able to go to high school? Or play sports? All of these things that I wish I had, but I don't. Instead, we've spent our entire lives just trying to survive. There is no time for fun anymore. And it bugs me. A lot."

Wyatt sighed. "Yeah, I know what you mean. I oftentimes wonder the same things. What would it be like to have a girlfriend, or to just relax and hang out with your friends? But we can't. And that is just part of our lives."

"But why? I just wish this war never happened, I wish we never had to fight like this."

"Yeah, I know. None of us wish that this happened. But it did. And we need to just learn to live with that. One day, we will end this war. One day, we will be able to live in peace. One day, you and I, we will prove to the world, that "The Enemy" should never have messed with Blake Courtenay and Wyatt Ward."

Blake chuckled. For someone so shy, Wyatt sure knew how to give a good pep talk. "You're right. I shouldn't worry so much. Come on, let's do this."

The pair began walking again, eventually making their way out of the Hall of Remembrance. After a few more minutes, they arrived in the center of the house. There was a large room, and the doorway read "War Room" in golden letters. The pair moved towards the door, when they heard voices coming from within the room. Wyatt motioned to Blake to be silent, and they both crept towards the door, pressing their ears against it.

"Jack...I hope you are wrong." Blake heard his father's voice say. "If that is really who you think "The Enemy" is being led by, I believe you, but I want more information on this."

Blake heard another voice, one he did not recognize. "Yes, Alex I _know_ it is them. They hide it well though, under the codename, _**The Council**_."

Uncle Dennis started to speak. "Well Jack, you may be right. We're just gonna have to assume that you are. I would like you and Abbey to contact Camp Unknown. Nico and Mike would be very interested to hear about this."

Blake heard the voice of Aunt Thea, speaking over the others in the group. "And you Nick, what news have you brought from California?"

"I came here with my daughter, Layla. I am leaving her in your care. Nicole and I, we have some things to check out, and I don't want Layla to be around for that." This Nick guy had a heavy Spanish accent, one that said that English probably wasn't his first language.

"And what is it that you need to do?" Alex asked.

"I need to speak with TÍO again. And with what Jack has said, this is even more pressing. I may be able to convince him to assist us in our efforts."

Blake and Wyatt slowly opened the door, concealed from the adults' views, who were too engrossed in conversation to notice them. They slipped into the shadowy corner, viewing the scene. There was a long rectangular table, with papers and blueprints scattered all over it. Blake's parents, Alex and Savannah, sat side by side, with Dennis and Thea beside them. Across the table sat three men, and a girl that was about Blake's age. Immediately, her looks caught his attention. She had shoulder length blonde hair, and dazzling blue eyes. She wore black clothes, with diamond earrings, and absolutely no make-up. She just had this natural beauty to her.

_**Oh damn. She. Is. Hot.**_

Blake turned to Wyatt, pointing to the girl, who he assumed to be Layla. He winked, and Wyatt rolled his eyes emphatically. Their little exchange was interrupted when Alex began to speak again.

"What about you Darrien? Any reports?"

_**Darrien? Darrien Peake?**_ Blake hadn't heard about him for a while. Since the last incident with Joanna and Gwendolyn, the family had kept real quiet, extra careful to stay off the mortals' radar.

The large man straightened and spoke. "Well, Erin and I, we've been working on some projects, involving the Great Lakes." Darrien handed Dennis a notebook. "The plans are in there. Also, Dutch and Erin have been trying to contact the Watcher. But their progress was halted when a mortal SWAT team attempted to raid their safe house. Thankfully, they held them off, and are rebuilding, and trying to contact him again. They said that they'd make a personal visit soon, bringing Trent along with them. Carolina thought it'd be safer to come here though, so I believe she is on her way with Katrina and Jacob now. 'Bella agrees with her, which is why she'll be bringing Jo and Gwen here as well. Meanwhile, I'm going to go back up to the Great Lakes, keep up my work. "

Savannah nodded. "This is good news. Very good news. The Watcher is powerful, a good ally if we can convince him."

The man in the middle shook his head. "I don't think we should trust him. He is too power-hungry. All he wants is revenge." His words came out with a similar power to that of Blake's father.

Alex nodded. "While I agree with you brother, he is powerful. This is a good thing. And we have a common enemy. But if he tries to double-cross us, we will take care of it Jack. Trust me on that."

The man sighed. "So be it."

Alex half-grinned. "I guess that means this meeting is over. Thank you all for bringing this information. Be safe. We will keep in touch."

The dark man, who looked to be of Spanish decent, walked to the corner, along with the other two. They each placed a hand on his shoulder, and they were enveloped in shadow.

Alex clapped, and the rest of the group stood up. "Okay. Thea, Savannah, would you please escort Layla to her new bedroom. The one right next to Wyatt and Blake's." Both Thea and Savannah eyed him suspiciously. He rolled his eyes. "What? You don't trust them?" He laughed.

The women weren't laughing. They stormed out quickly, glaring at Alex the entire way with Layla in tow. They disregarded Alex's questions. Both Dennis and Alex shared a laugh.

"Women!" They chuckled in unison. When their laughter ceased, they both looked at each other, grinning.

"Yeah. Almost as bad as snooping teenagers!" The adults walked to the corner where Wyatt and Blake were hiding, and dragged them from the shadows by their ears. "You really think we couldn't see you there?"

Blake and Wyatt both cringed as they were dragged across the cold tile floor. While their fathers were both very lenient, the one thing they did not stand for was disrespect for their rules. Both Blake's father and Uncle Dennis bore stern looks on their faces. Alex spoke first, anger filling his voice.

"What in Hades do you boys think you have been doing? Spying on us? This is unacceptable." Bale tried to explain himself, but his father cut him off. "You both know better!"

Dennis walked up behind Alex, placing his hand on the son of Zeus' shoulder. "Alex...it's not that bad..."

"Oh, it isn't? They are breaking our rules! Again!"

"But Alex-"

"No buts Dennis. This is not to go unpunished!"

Dennis' eyes flashed bright purple. "Alex Courtenay. You will listen to what I'm trying to tell you! We weren't exactly the best with rules when we were younger, remember? We almost destroyed the Williamsburg Bridge, and we robbed a bank for gods' sake! You really expect our children to respect our rules, when we didn't respect the rules ourselves?"

Alex sighed, and for the first time in years, Blake saw signs of stress on his father's face. The war had obviously been taking a toll on him, but he was good at hiding it, putting on a confident, general-like face. "Even so...that doesn't explain why you guys are here. It's almost 4 am. You should both be in bed."

Blake looked his father straight in the eye. "That is exactly what I've been trying to say. I can't sleep I keep having these dreams. About this kid...and the four of us are there. And they keep getting clearer and clearer. And...the dream isn't good."

Alex lifted his eyebrows. "And where does this dream take place?"

"Utica College. In that big courtyard. The one that we used to go to, the 6 of us, to have picnics and stuff when none of the mortals were around."

Alex smiled, seemingly remembering good times. "And based on these dreams...when do you believe these events will occur."

Blake hadn't really thought about it before, but when his father asked, he knew the answer immediately. "Tomorrow morning."

Alex's smile faded, the look of nostalgia wearing off. Over the years, Blake's father had come to trust his son's instincts. 99% of the time, when Blake predicted something, it happened. "Well...I guess we had better get ready then. Come."

Wyatt immediately rose from the floor, following Blake's father and speaking with him. Uncle Dennis lagged behind, waiting for Blake. "Hey kiddo! How ya doing?"

"I'm good." Blake lied. "I'm really good."

Dennis looked at him with a stern expression, but then a smile spread across his lips. "Ya know, you really don't need to bottle this stuff up. You can release sometimes, talk to people. There is no need to lie, especially not to me." Dennis' eyes flickered to Alex. "Yeah, I know, your father appears to be all rough and tough on the outside, but he really isn't. He's great, and a jokester at the same time. He just needs to put on that image, to be the great leader that he is. Why do you think all of us will follow him 'til the end? Because he knows what he is doing. Yet he still finds time to release. Do you understand?"

Blake remained silent, just slowly walking with his "Uncle" down the hall. Dennis sighed. "You know, twenty years ago, your father and I, we took on a Giant?"

"Really?" Blake's face lit up with pride. He had never heard about this from his father. Actually, his father didn't talk about the past much. It seemed like that was a time his father tried to forget, filled with loss and grief, much like the time they were in right now. But his father, taking on a real thirty foot Giant? Blake couldn't even imagine it

"Yup. The Giant, Klytios. The Bane of Hecate. He and I, the stupid kids we were, actually took him on with no weapons at one point." Dennis chuckled a bit."And lemme tell you, that Giant was no easy opponent. He and his army killed quite a few demigods that day." Dennis was silent for a moment, honoring those he lost.

"He had this special sense of vengeance towards a friend of ours, Seline McRoy...er..Smith now. Actually, she's you aunt." With that, Blake got quite confused. Dennis smiled." Long story. She lives in Dallas, TX. She and her family blend in with the mortals, keeping an eye on them. I haven't seen her, Ben, or Cam in forever. It saddens me a bit..." Uncle Dennis' voice trailed off, remembering times of long ago. Dennis tried to shake away the thoughts, perking up as they left the Hall of Remembrance and turned to the Quartering Hall.

"Doesn't matter...what happened has happened. What's done is done. There is no going back, and we must learn to deal with that. Whether we like it or not. We just play our part, do what is right." Dennis stopped talking as they arrived at Blake and Wyatt's room. "Well, go ahead, get ready. Meanwhile, your father and I will have a more difficult task. Convincing your mothers." Dennis winked, and slipped down the hall, leaving Blake to arm up.

Blake hesitated, trying to gather his thoughts before calling out Dennis. "Hey Uncle Den, what'd you mean, 'What's happened has happened. What's done is done.'?"

Dennis, who had just rounded the corner, poked his head back, one eyebrow raised. He gave an amused sigh, walking back towards Blake again. "It's really nothing Blake. Seline and Ben got themselves into trouble a while back, and paid the price for it. But that is a story for another day." Dennis winked down at Blake again.

"You know, you might wanna get that eye checked out. You appear to have a twitch." Dennis laughed, turning to walk away. As he hit the corner, he turned and tossed something back to Blake, it landing in his hands.

"Keep that close. You never know when you may be in need of some help. Oh, and don't tell Wyatt that I gave that to you. With his head in the clouds over that new girl, he might get all jealous." Dennis started to chuckled, turning the corner to prepare for the mission.

_**Wait...the new girl? Oh no way is Wyatt gonna take that hottie from me!**_

Blake glanced down at his hand, finding a small wooden charm. It was a panther, jet black with a ferocious snarl on its face.

_**I wonder how this little thing could even help me.**_ Blake thought to himself, skeptical of its actual use. He slipped the charm onto his necklace. He didn't know why he did, it just felt like the right thing to do.

Blake stepped back towards his room, hesitating as he heard two voices from within.

"...I'm sure you'll like it here." Blake heard Wyatt's voice, tentative and soft. He was obviously nervous, and when Blake heard the second voice, he understood why.

"Thanks Wyatt, you all are being so nice to me. No one is ever nice to me, besides Mum and Dad of course." The pretty new girl, Layla, had a slight Spanish accent, similar to the way Uncle Dennis spoke at times. Her speech was slow and controlled. Blake pressed his ear against the door, trying to hear the conversation better.

"Oh, it was nothing. You deserve it..." Wyatt's voice trailed off again.

"Oh yeah...just like I deserved to be dumped off here, like used goods, without any notice." The sharpness in her voice made Blake well aware of how she felt about being there, and how she felt about her father not taking her with him.

"I'm sure they didn't just dump you off here. Your father seems to think this is the safest place for you, and I have to agree with him. There are people here to protect you."

"But I don't need to be protected!" Layla's voice rang out loud, obviously exasperated by the idea. "I can protect myself!" After a few moments she sighed. "You're probably right...Thank you Wyatt." There were a few moments of silence, and Blake decided that that would not be beneficial for him if Wyatt and Layla got attached so early. He was not going to miss out on a girl as good looking as her. Blake opened the door and strutted in, finding Layla and Wyatt wrapped in a hug.

Wyatt saw Blake and gave him a look that said _'Bro, what do ya think you're doing?'_

Blake just raised an eyebrow at Wyatt, mouthing the words: What does it look like I'm doing?

Blake coughed loudly, and Layla jumped out of Wyatt's arms, blood rushing to her cheeks. She turned away from both boys, a tear rolling down her face. She stepped towards the wall, disappearing into the shadows.

Blake heard a voice behind him in the doorway. "So much like her father...she really needs to build up those leg muscles." Blake turned to find his father standing there, armed to the teeth with armor and weapons. Dennis stood behind him, dressed in all black, his sword hanging from his waist. "You boys ready?"

Blake shook his head quickly, heading towards his closet. He pulled out his compound bow and his quiver, which had dozens of types of arrows resting in it. He placed his weapons on his bed, and quickly threw on his belt, drawing his hunting knives from it. The blades had a sick curve to them, extending about sixteen inches in length. He pulled the blue trident from its slot in the wall, tossing it over to Wyatt, who still looked upset over the fact that Layla left. _Eh, he'll get over it. We got more important things going on._

Blake quickly pulled his black sweat suit on, grabbing his weapons on his way out the door. The group made their way to the garage, searching around for a suitable vehicle for their mission. They passed a white Corvette, Blake's favorite, moving towards Alex's choice: a black 2029 Range Rover. The sleek SUV just embodied power, beauty, and speed. It was one of their more updated cars, with quite a few gadgets and weapons modified into the vehicle.

The group piled into the car, Alex driving with Dennis in the shotgun seat. Blake and Wyatt fidgeted with their weapons, silent. All four militants remained quiet, their thoughts only on the mission that laid ahead of them.

The ride was silent for a while, the only noise being the irregular pattering of the light rain spitting against the tinted windows of the SUV, accompanied only by the rhythmic beat of the glossy windshield wipers. Blake, lost in thought, allowed his eyes to wander, eventually meeting with Dennis' in the rearview mirror. Blake's godfather nodded to him, showing off a confident smile.

Blake, despite his normal confidence, knowing that he was going to be fine, couldn't help but worry about those around him. Was he leading his family into a death trap? Would they even reach the kid in time? What would happen if they didn't? Could he live with himself if any of them died, because he initiated this mission? He didn't know. Those were all things that he just couldn't bear to think about.

Thankfully, he didn't have to. Alex pulled off the highway and onto a street, less than a mile from their destination. Blake spoke up.

"Dad, those guys I told you about, the Colls, do you think they will be a huge threat?"

Alex's eyes glistened with confidence, or maybe cockiness. "If that guy actually shows up, I'll handle him. He shouldn't give us too much trouble." Blake could see the pride that came with being a son of Zeus just dripping from his father, his obvious confidence filling Blake with a fighting spirit. "Ah, here we are."

Alex pulled the Range Rover into the parking lot slowly and quietly, unnoticed as smoke filled the sky to the west. Blake was sure he could hear the sound of bullets being fired among the smoke, and quickly hopped out of the SUV. He looked to his father, who nodded, and they all took off towards the smoke. Blake arrived at the scene first, being the closest. What lay before him was total carnage. About a dozen mortal army men already lay dead, bleeding out from various places. Small pieces of metal flew out of nowhere, hitting the men with deadly precision. Blake searched for the boy, but saw no one but the army officers, who were all firing randomly at the courtyard around them.

The small metal pieces, which Blake now realized must have been throwing knives, stopped appearing, and the bullet flow slowed. Suddenly, there was a sharp cry of pain, and Blake saw an image flickering in the middle of the courtyard, a young boy with a bleeding injury in his left shoulder. The boy had strawberry blonde hair, and was average height for a young teen, maybe 5'7 or so. He wore rags, and obviously hadn't been going through a good time recently. Scars covered his pale arms and a black belt rested on his waist. Blake eyed the boy, and caught his blue eyes staring painfully at a man who was slowly walking towards him. Blake turned back to the group.

"We need to help him out!" Blake glanced around, looking for a way up to the roofs. After a few moments, he noticed a black fire escape ladder about 15 feet from the ground. "Quick, Wyatt, give me a boost up."


	3. Blake III

**Disclaimer: Some characters are mine, some are not. Universe is RR's. I have permission to use all characters used.**

**Author's Note: Chapter III is written in the third person perspective of Blake Courtenay, legacy of Zeus and Apollo.**

**III**

**BLAKE**

**Blake whispered to his friend**, nodding towards the ladder that extended from the roof to about 12 feet off the ground.

"Quick, Wyatt, give me a boost up."

Wyatt did as Blake told him, putting his hands together at about thigh level, squatting towards the ground. Blake took a running start towards his best friend, stepping on his hands, leaping as Wyatt launched him into the air. Blake wrapped his hands around the lowest bar of the ladder, clinging on to it. He began to climb, glancing back down.

"Spread out. Wait in the shadows. I'll give you a signal."

Alex looked up to his son, filled with emotion. If Blake wasn't mistaken, his father seemed proud of him. Possibly for taking the lead in such a dangerous and high-risk situation. Or something along those lines. His father spoke to him as Blake continued to climb.

"What kind of signal?"

Blake grinned back at him, his white teeth shining brilliantly. "Wait and see. You won't be able to miss it."

Wyatt shook his head, muttering. "Why was I afraid you would say something like that…?"

Blake laughed and pulled himself to the roof of the building, which was thankfully flat and not slanted at all. Much easier to maneuver on. Blake began to advance, jumping from roof to roof with perfect execution, avoiding all detection. Well, except that of the red haired boy, who now had a gun pointed to his head. Blake quickened his pace, eventually coming to a spot with a perfect line of sight to the large man, obviously the commanding officer for the army that was present.

Blake reached back and drew an arrow from his quiver, setting his sights on the military leader. He eyed the arrow. A blue head. A Zeus bolt. He and his mother had spent quite a long time making special arrows, enchanting them, cursing them to do incredible things. He made eye contact with the boy, and winked at him. The boy started to laugh, and after getting kicked, pointed to the man's chest. Blake got the message, and aimed his arrow directly at the heart of the man. Blake took a deep breath and steadied his arm. The man lifted his arm to shoot at the boy, but Blake had other ideas. He released the arrow, a missile moving at terrifying velocity and it hit its target directly.

The man staggered back and Blake smiled cockily, closing his eyes. Yet another perfect shot. He couldn't think of anyone who could shoot as well as he could, but he didn't want to miss the best part! He quickly opened his eyes, his body awakened by the lightning crackling above him. He felt invigorated by its presence, its electricity running through his veins. The lightning seemed called to the arrow, which was exactly why it had been summoned in the first place. That was the function of Blake's Zeus bolt. To summon lightning, and literally fry whatever it was that had been targeted.

The electric missile streaked from the sky, launching itself towards the military man at blinding speeds. The boy jumped out of the way just in time as the man was fried alive by the extreme heat of the lightning. The boy didn't look to have been hurt by the blast. _Well, that would've sucked_.

Blake scanned the scene. His signal was placed perfectly and he looked around, noticing the dark figures of his team now advancing from the shadows. They'd spread out exactly how he'd told them, and were converging on the hostiles from all directions. Blake knocked three normal arrows at once, and fired at a trio of confused soldiers who had begun to fire at the boy again. With a quick release, Blake silenced them. Blake cracked a smile. He had never had such easy target practice. The men moved so slowly, so clumsily. Blake would've felt bad had it not been for the fact that these men wouldn't hesitate to execute Blake at the first chance they got. Mortals, always so judgmental and discriminatory. It made Blake sick.

Blake fired another arrow at a man, and he let out a scream before falling._ Five kills. This could get very interesting._

Blake saw a man running for his life, trying to escape into the building that Blake was now using as his post. Blake grabbed his weapons and leaped off of the roof, landing on the fleeing soldier's shoulders. The man stumbled in surprise, and bucked as a bronco would. Blake grabbed a tight hold of his collar with one hand, reaching back and drawing one of his steel knives with the other. He lifted the dagger, and stabbed downwards, quickly ending the mortal's miserable life. A man fired at him and Blake drew another arrow. He noticed the black etching on the side of the shaft. It read, σέρνω, the Greek word for drag. He fired the arrow at his attacker, and a long cord extended with the arrow as it flew towards him. The arrow hit his calf, and the cord wrapped around his leg, before beginning to drag him back to Blake. After a few moments of intense screaming as the man was dragged across the hard pavement, Blake lowered his knives and finished the man off in the same fashion as his previous combatant.

The scene was quickly becoming filled with blood and bodies as Blake and his partners tore the army to shreds. Wyatt stabbed his trident into a large man, almost severing his body in two. His father and Dennis fought side by side, twisting and stabbing as a perfect team. Blake smiled as they downed their final enemy. So much easier than I had been expecting, Blake thought. Only four of the soldiers remained, screaming in terror as they fled to the south of the group. Wyatt nodded to Blake, who smiled. _My pleasure._

Blake drew four arrows, knocking them all at once. He raised his bow in the air, and fired the arrows. The arrows soared high into the air, above the low clouds that tugged at the increasingly damp ground. After a moment of silence, a series of pained yelps came from the other side of the courtyard, about two hundred yards from where Blake was standing. _Bull's-eye_.

Blake lifted the arm of one of his nearby victims, wiping the blood off of his blades onto the man's shirt. He began to whistle an old tune his mother had sung to him and Wyatt as young children, some legend about a large snake and great hero who slew it. Blake strolled over to his best friend, gripping his hand tightly in greeting. Blake bowed in mock admiration. "Saw that last kill. Nice one! Almost cut him clean in half!"

Wyatt grinned at Blake excitedly. "Yes, but that is nothing compared to a quadruple kill from two hundred meters away!" The boys began to talk of the fun they had had, going over the different things they had pulled off. Most people would see the pair as sadistic and cruel, but the mortals and their oppression has caused Blake and his family nothing but grief for years. In Blake's eyes, the mortals had it coming to them. And making it into a game made it a lot easier to live with the guilt of taking another life. They should just be glad that they chose to kill them quickly. The boys approached the red haired kid, their fathers already on their way to greet him.

Dennis had already begun to converse with the kid when Blake and Wyatt arrived, still chatting away about the skilled kills they had performed with ease. The boys silenced as they reached their fathers, with Dennis raising his hands in submission. Dennis calmed the boy down, asking for his name. Cautiously, the boy asked for theirs first, and then a series of introductions ensued. When the greetings ceased, the boy, Scott, thanked him for saving him. Blake laughed and began to tell a story about the time he and Wyatt had broken into a mortal police station and helped to break out friends of theirs, Gwen and Joanna. The twin girls had gotten in a bit of trouble and Blake and Wyatt took down every mortal in their path, eventually getting to the girls and bringing them home to their parents, Darrien Peake and Arabella Matthews. But before he could even get started, his father cut him off, and Blake stuck his tongue out at him.

More boring conversation proceeded, and Blake began to daze, his thoughts going elsewhere. He thought of his night of action, the gorgeous new girl, the "secret" meeting in the War Room. Anything but the monotonous conversation before him. His trance was broken by a pair of gunshots sounding loudly in the air, jerking the heads of all five group members towards the location of the noise.

The ginger boy took off running first, vaulting himself over a low brick wall. Blake looked at Wyatt and shrugged, and the best friends followed him, their fathers right behind them. As Blake leaped over the wall, caught the sight of blood. He landed silently on the other side, and quickly understood what happened. A small girl, probably half of Blake's age, with flowing auburn hair and startling hazel eyes, stood above the dead bodies of two mortal policemen. She had a gun in her hands, a golden pistol, still smoking.

Scott was practically screaming at the girl, and Blake could easily tell immediately that she was the boy's sister. They had very similar faces, and even a similar accent to their words, even though the girl's were very confused and rambling. Blake's concentration was restored when Wyatt spoke next to him.

"So you shot them. I like this girl already!" Blake smacked him on the back of the head, and leaned over, whispering into his ear.

"What are you, stupid? She is like nine or ten years old. Show some respect bro. She isn't like us."

Wyatt's back straightened in apology. "Oh...right. Sorry."

More conversation passed on, and again Blake's attention began to slip. His father and Dennis seemed pretty happy about something, but Blake felt quite the opposite. Something was very wrong. The scene, it felt too familiar. More than simple déjà vu...something was really off. Blake felt the whole world slow down, a cold chill running up his spine. The sun no longer shined upon the courtyard, covered by a thick, inauspicious fog. He knew what was coming, but he couldn't stop it. There was a loud clap, and a deep voice spoke in the weird language he had heard in his dreams. A hooded figure emerged from the shadows, but Blake couldn't get a good lock on his face.

His hand instinctively reached for his bow, freezing as a loud buzz filled the air. Blake's eyes shot to a large flying disc, speeding across the morning sky. _A shield._ Blake cursed as it zipped across the courtyard, his prophetic dream becoming a full-fledged reality. The coal black weapon soared straight towards Scott, colliding with his temple as he fell to the blood soaked concrete in an unconscious heap. Blake found his hand wrapping around the compound bow, a steel arrow easily finding its way into the teen's ready hands. He knew that if he was to stop his own imminent death, which would no doubt be a result of the battle that would ensue, he would need to take out these threats before they could attack. He fired an arrow directly into the darkness, and just as in his dream, it was dodged. The man, who Blake could see more clearly now, was wearing some sort of black armor, and a shaggy beard grew on his chin. He spouted out orders as the dream has dictated, and Blake knew this was when he would get skewered. Sure enough, the trio of teens emerged from the shadows, one launching a solid black javelin in Blake's direction. He urged his body to move, to collapse, anything. Just to get out of the way of the large missile. But no luck. He was meant to die here. His body would not disobey Fate that was not its place. Blake closed his eyes and waited for the pain.

The pain came, but not in the sense that Blake had been expecting. There was a sharp impact to his calves and he felt his body leave the ground. His eyes shot open just in time to see the ashen grey cement blocks make contact with his face, releasing any oxygen he had left. Blake glanced up, realizing just what had happened. Wyatt stood there, grinning like the Devil himself, his trident tip suspiciously pointing towards the ground, as if he had just made a quick sweeping motion with it.

"Well Pretty Boy," Wyatt said, "You gunna get up, or not?"

Blake scowled, pushing himself up from the ground, but he was glad that Wyatt had the sense to save his life. Blake the brave, Blake the brilliant, would soon come to be known as Blake the Bonehead if he didn't make up for his little panic fit quickly. Blake could deal with defeat, or even obliteration. But one thing Blake couldn't handle? Humiliation. It terrified him. Would they have been laughing at his funeral, as his father gave a great speech of how brave and bold he was, knowing just how helpless he had been at his death? He couldn't bear the thought. It was too degrading. Anger seeped into the archer's body, filling him with such uncontrollable rage that the fog around the courtyard began to clear.

The pair who Blake guessed would be twins looked around hesitantly, scared by his sudden burst of power. "What?!" Blake called out to them. "Scared of a little light?" The blonde pair glared at him, drawing their weapons. The taller one, who wasn't taller by much at all, drew a long sword, over 4 feet long. It was incredible he could even handle the length of it. The second, who seemed to be handling the situation a bit better, drew a pair of long daggers, very similar to Blake's aside from one factor. The kid, who Blake had figured out, must be either Dwayne or Dev, stood before Blake with a pair of sickly curved, pitch black knives, twirling them with such skill you'd have thought he was born with them at his waist. His emotionless coal-black eyes stared at Blake, nodding to his brother to initiate the fighting.

Blake looked to his father for confirmation, but he was already locked into combat with the bearded man, who was swinging two jet black swords, stabbing and thrusting at Blake's dad. Dennis was fighting the hooded figure, who he seemed to know somehow. Of course, Blake didn't know this, but there was just something about the way he glared at him, as if they were old enemies and Dennis couldn't wait to finish him off. Blake whirled around to face his new opponent, who was a few inches taller than he was, and his long blonde hair flipped menacingly around in the wind that cycloned around the pair. Blake drew his own knives, not his preferred weapon, and strode in on the offensive, slashing towards the boy's left side.

The boy quickly dodged Blake's strike, returning a stab of his own. Blake's instincts were good, but his opponent was better. Blake, even fighting Wyatt, had never fought someone so _fast_. Strike after strike, soon Blake was wearing down. He wasn't sure how much longer he could hold on to fight this kid, but it wouldn't be very long. A few more minutes, at best. Blake was bred for archery, electrokinesis, light manipulation, that sort of thing. Not hand to hand combat. Definitely not his forte. Wait, light….that was it! If there was one thing his dad had taught him about the spawn of Hades, it was that light definitely was not their friend. Blake spun as he dodged a downward strike from whichever Coll twin he was facing, and came up with a quick kick, landing it directly on the boy's jaw. He staggered, giving Blake just the opening that he needed. Blake drew up his power. This time, it wasn't just basic instinct like with archery. To use light as a weapon, that took a lot of skill, and training that his mother had provided him. Her brother, Gary, also trained him whenever he was around. He hadn't been to the house in recent years though…most of the others wondered if he was even alive anymore. If so, he was doing a good job of hiding it. But there was one thing about Uncle Gary that Blake always remembered. That man knew his light.

In one of their lessons, when Blake was 11, Uncle Gary tried to show him just how important light could be during a battle. They fought, with Gary having the upper hand at almost all times. He kept shifting the sunlight into Blake's eyes, and he would cry out in an instance of sharp pain, and then find a bronze sword to his throat. Quickly, Blake caught on. While Gary moved the sunlight to glare into Blake's eyes, Blake tried to control the light, and do the same. It didn't work at first, and he ended up passing out a few times from the strain, but eventually he was able to force Uncle Gary into a corner, and then use light to gain the advantage. Blake had always been proud of his accomplishments that day, but it wasn't his accomplishments or the skills that he mastered that would help him here. It was a cool trick his Uncle had taught him, using the little light particles around in the air, and moving them at such a high velocity towards an object, that on impact, there was actually a burst of light. Uncle Gary liked to call this the Photon Blast. Blake had never mastered it, not in all of his years of training.

But it was that maneuver, the Photon Blast, which Blake would need to use now. All his confidence in his abilities, all his skill at archery, it would all mean nothing if he couldn't take down someone at the same skill level as he. What skill did it take to kill a mortal? Not a lot. These mortals, they provided Blake and Wyatt with practice, to keep their blood pumping, keep their instincts fresh. But if they couldn't best some other children of the gods, all the years of hard work and training would have been a huge waste. Blake wasn't going to let that happen.

Blake felt a lump rise in his throat. This was his chance, his opportunity to prove that he could survive. Blake felt the small amount of light particles moving, migrating straight to his left hand, just glowing, throbbing in the cold summer air. Blake strained, willing the light to move, and move it did. The light shot forward so fast, no one but Blake even knew it happened. There was a loud bang, and huge flash of light.

The Coll twin found himself on his back, and Blake surged forward landing so that his legs locked the boy's arms into place, leaving his neck and chest completely vulnerable to a strike. Blake had to do it. He had to kill him, to prove to himself, and everyone else that he belonged. The demigod raised his knives, lifting them to just over his head, and looked into the boy's eyes as he prepared to give the final blow. But something stopped Blake. He saw fear in the boy's eyes. For the first time since the battle had begun, the Coll boy didn't bear emotionless, black stones within his sockets. His eyes were filled with fear of death, something that most children of Hades don't have. It didn't add up. Blake loosened his grip on the daggers, his arms falling to his side.

He let his guard down. He never let his guard down. He didn't show mercy. He didn't spare undeserving lives. It was weakness. How could he just let this other kid walk away, moments after he would have taken Blake's life without notice? He shouldn't have shown mercy. He should've just taken those knives deep into the chest of his enemy and be done with it. He should walk away, blood on his hands and murder tainting his soul. But he didn't. Blake found himself placing the daggers back into their sheaths, and releasing the boy from his hold. Blake stood, wiping the blood from his face and turned to walk away. He realized just what was happening much too late. He broke the #1 rule in war. _Do not turn your back on your enemy. Do so, and you'll end up in a ditch._ How could he be so stupid?! He turned quickly, to find the teen disappearing into the shadows, but Blake was not alone. Not by a long shot.

Standing before Blake was a large skeletal horse, with burning red eyes, a wiry black mane sprouting from its skinless neck. The horse was larger than any that Blake had ever seen, towering over him, snorting its hot breath into his face. But it was not the horse that frightened Blake, but its rider.

Upon the skeletal horse sat, mounted, a Union general from the American Civil War. _Sadly, he must have forgotten his skin back in the Underworld_, Blake laughed. The skeleton man grinned at him angrily, drawing a large sabre. The shine of the blade glinted off of the soldier's uniform buttons, part of the man's impeccable blue fabric uniform, coming from the Union state of Pennsylvania. The horse reared back as the skeleton lifted the sabre for a killing strike…

Blake drew his daggers, but he moved too slowly. The horse, man, and sword all came down rapidly, and the demigod's hands were still behind his back, pulling the knives from their sheathes. It slashed downward, opening a deep gash across Blake's left cheek, and causing him to fall backwards in pain. He clutched his face, blood spouting every which way. He heard a loud cry, and squinted through the blood, using his fingers to shield the remainder of his face. Wyatt, the idiot that he was, had jumped onto the back of the bone horse, and got himself thrown off.

Blake forced himself to stand. His friend needed him, and he couldn't just give up now. He'd already messed up once that day…that _would not_ happen again. He stood, and drew his bow, taking aim on the skeletal monster that was now attacking his best friend. The huge horse stomped on Wyatt once, twice, three times. Blake cringed, and then fired an arrow, with a Greek fire lit on the end, directly at the skeleton man. It struck right between its eyes, and it turned toward Blake. It threw its head back and laughed a garbled, demonic laugh. Its throat rumbled in some sort of language that Blake couldn't understand, and then it charged directly at him, sabre ready. Blake fired a second arrow, this one in its chest. Another failure. He was running out of ideas. He had saved Wyatt from being squashed, but now he was about to take the one way train to hell. Desperate, Blake ripped his necklace off, wishing, praying that the charm would save him. _Nothing_. Absolutely nothing. He rolled out of the way of the horse, buying a few precious seconds. The demigod threw the charm down in disgust and frustration, and then turned back to the undead cavalryman. He drew his knives, and readied himself for death. Would it be painful? Probably. Would it be quick? Hopefully. All Blake hoped was that his family survived this ordeal. He wouldn't, but if they got away safely, he could rest in peace. To ensure that they had a chance at getting out, Blake planned to send any and all of these undead bastards that came at him back to where they belong. Hell. Suddenly, a low growl erupted from the ground just behind Blake.

Blake whirled around, almost toppling over in the process, finding something he had not expected to see. Before him was the most majestic panther he had ever seen. _Great, another enemy_. The fierce feline stood, or rather, crouched, in a low position, her razor sharp fangs bared, a rumbling sound resonating from her throat. He could tell she was female, but that didn't make her any less powerful. He knew that much just by staring into her deep black eyes. There was something about this panther that irked Blake. She was just _mysterious_. Yeah, mysterious was the word he was looking for. There was just something about this cat that scared him, and Blake didn't get scared. Startled, maybe. And that was pushing it. He had trained for every and any situation that could be thrown his way, but now he had to fight this undead horseman, and worry about the giant cat that looked like she was going to tear his head off.

Blake's first instinct was to attack the cat, gripping his knives tightly. The cat seemed to notice his intentions, and crouched slightly lower, ready to pounce at any moment. Blake took a step forward, and the cat leapt…

… vaulting straight over Blake and right at the skeletal demon on horseback. The colossal skeleton man fell off of his mighty steed, trying desperately to free itself from the hold that the panther had on it. His arm came up, his sword waving wildly as he tried to gain some space and any sort of advantage in the fight. The panther made a sound that was almost like laughter, and started to scratch, claw, bite, and smash the skeleton. The horse reared back in outrage, charging forward to kill Blake's savior. The panther paid it no mind, finishing its job, pulling the skull from the rest of the undead warrior. As the horse reached it, the panther sidestepped its attacker and stomped away from the undead warrior defiantly. Or, what was left of him anyway. All that remained where the soldier had been only moments before was a splintered pile of assorted bones, a set of rags that probably had been his uniform, and a sword, which would no longer do him any good. Blake chuckled, freezing when the panther gave him a glare. Apparently, she didn't like him. She turned back to the horse, and after a few moments of hissing and groaning, another pile of bones surfaced from the scuffle. "Well then." Blake snorted at the giant cat, turning away, trying to focus on the task at hand. Sure, the cat was already annoying him, but heck, it saved his life, could he really complain? She eyed him suspiciously before bounding over to Wyatt, nuzzling up against him.

_Suuuuure. Like him, but screw me right?_

Blake took a shaky breathe, sheathing his knives, trying to gain some sort of composure. Dwayne, or Devin, or whoever the hell he was, was gone.

Blood still poured from his cheek wound, and his vision blurred slightly as the loss of blood overwhelmed him. Blake luckily had some experience in healing and was pulled one of his fire arrows from his quiver. The used the enduring flame of the arrow to cauterize his wound, biting back the pain as it crept down his neck and locked up his throat. His skin smoldered, but soon the wound was closed and the bleeding stopped. Blake winced, gathering his bearings and scanning the foggy landscape that surrounded him.

Wyatt was still crumpled into a heap on the ground, barely moving. His chest rose and fell at an irregular beat, but at least he _was _breathing. The enigmatic panther continued to nuzzle up against Blake's best friend, and Blake was tinged with guilt. It was his fault that this happened.

Looking at the crumpled body of his best friend, Blake struggled to hold it together. He rushed to Wyatt's side, tears welling in his eyes. He grabbed a hold of his friend's hand and the panther didn't even seem to mind him being there. Wyatt groaned softly, his eyes barely open.

"Blake…it's…okay. Go. Get the boy and girl out. Enigma here can take care of me for a while."

"Wyatt no, I can't just leave you here!"

Wyatt gripped Blake's hand hard. "GO!"

Blake tore himself away from Wyatt's side. If something happened to him, he'd never be able to live with himself. Never.

Blake looked desperately around for the two redhead children. Scott was still in heap over near the brick wall, but his sister was nowhere to be found. Blake ran towards the boy, checking his pulse. His heart beat slow, but steadily. He'd live.

Blake closed his eyes for a moment and focused, listening close through all the commotion of steel clanging against steel and screams as the adults went head on towards each other. Blake listened for any anomalies in the sound waves, just listening hard. His head turned sharply towards an out of place sound. Gunfire. Jerking to the west, Blake opened his eyes to find Cindy Ward fighting against the youngest member of the Coll family.

She fired wildly at the boy, who approached her with his pitch black weapon in hand. Tears streamed down her face as she missed each and every time, her hand shaking violently. Soon her clip emptied and she screamed in frustration, throwing the pistol at the boy, which caught him by surprise. It hit him square in the nose, and he grunted, staggering back.

Blake took his chance, running towards the action. The Coll boy rammed into Cindy, sending her crunching into a stone wall surrounding the courtyard. She slumped to the floor, and the Coll boy raised his knife to kill Cindy. But he hesitated, looking down hard at her lifeless body.

Something in his eyes said that he couldn't do it. The boy couldn't have been older than 11 or 12 years old, and killing people was a nasty business. Blake sometimes hated having to take the lives of others, especially the pathetic mortals that the Enemy had set upon them, but his hatred for those who'd hurt his family overrode his compassion. On any other day, Blake might have felt bad for the little Coll boy, but not today. His best friend lie in a heap at the hands of some demonic skeleton summoned by one of the elder Colls. His cousin, if that is what Blake could consider Scott, lay bleeding in the middle of the courtyard, quite possibly dead. Now Cindy too was laying there, breathe barely escaping her.

Blake had seen it all, and couldn't stop it. The darkness that fell over the courtyard crept into Blake's heart. The Colls and their mysterious superior were winning. Rage roared to Blake, filling his heart, his face, his eyes. The youngest Coll seemingly overcame his guilt over killing another human being, and gripped the knife for the kill.

As he lifted his hands for the strike, Blake nocked a barbed-head arrow, and fired it straight at Nathan with precision. It struck the boy directly in the hand, piercing it, and latching into the wall. The boy yowled in a high pitched scream of pain, tugging at his hands.

Blake took the moment he had to run to Cindy's side, picking her up and running back towards Scott's bloody heap of a body. Blake turned back to find both Devin and Dwayne, though Blake still could not tell the pair apart, helping their brother from his little complication. Blake placed Cindy neatly on the ground, reared back, and fired two arrows at the twins. They looked up just in time to retreat into the shadows, dragging their crying brother along with them. The arrows sunk into the brick wall of the building, missing their targets.

Blake swore, turning to focus on Cindy. She was breathing, barely. Blake pulled out a bit of nectar from his sidepack, dripping a few drops of the divine liquid into her lips. The nectar, which was a drink of the gods, could heal injuries of demigods and legacies if applied correctly. But the demigods and legacies also had to be careful, because a drop too much of the nectar and the mortal side of them would burn right up, frying the godly child from the inside out.

The few drops seemed to do just the trick for Cindy and she gasped for breathe, her eyes shooting open. A few moments later, she was sitting up and looking over at her brother. She crawled over to him as swords clanged to our left. Blake's eyes left her and Scott for a moment, glancing back at the action.

Uncle Dennis deflected the man's sword, and then threw his head back in hysterical laughter. The man, infuriated, lunged forward, trying to stab him through the gut. Dennis deflected again, and landed a hard head-butt to the man's forehead. The man groaned, slumping to the ground, and Dennis turned and smirked at me, throwing in a quick wink. His eyes widened as he saw Scott's still unconscious form, sprawled out on the floor, Cindy muttering incoherently over him.

"Scott. Wake up…please wake up. Scott. I can't lose you too. Not like we lost Mommy and Daddy. Scott. I need you." Cindy's tears rolled down her cheeks, creating a small puddle on Scott's now blood-drenched shirt. "Scott…I love you. Please…please Scott. Please wake up!" Cindy cried for what seemed like hours, and already physically exhausted, fainted, laying on Scott's chest, asleep, tears and blood speckling her face.

Dennis' opponent returned to his feet and muttered a few curses at my uncle.

"We'll return Ward. We will return. And next time, you won't be so lucky."

"We'll see, traitor. We will see. But by the end of this, I promise you, this sword will bury itself into your gut. That is a promise."

The man backed up into the shadows, the Colls boys grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him in.

Even whilst the rest of the fighting seemed to calm, Dad and Mark Coll whirled in a cyclone of blade, wind, and shadow. Blake's father called upon the heavens, casting lightning strike after lightning strike on the man, who narrowly dodged each one. He wanted to help him, but he was too busy tending to Scott's injuries, wrapping his head and stopping the bleeding. The fight raged on and Uncle Dennis ran over to Blake's side.

"I have these two Blake, go check on Wyatt." He proceeded to lift the pair off their feet and swiftly strode towards the alleyway from which we entered.

Blake ran to Wyatt's side, and Enigma backed off. He gripped his friend's hand tightly and lifted him up onto his shoulders, distributing his weight on them. The large cat purred and ran after Blake, who took off into a full run.

"Dad! We gotta go!" Blake's father didn't respond, but brought down a fury of lightning down onto Mr. Coll and rode a wave of wind over to Blake's side, grabbing him from him and quickly throwing him onto his own shoulders.

"Run Blake, go!" Mr. Coll roared in outrage and started to turn a sickly gray color, seemingly growing. Blake's eyes widened in fear, as did his father's, but more out of surprise than fear. The hooded figure emerged from the shadows.

"Not now Coll. We have other matters to attend to," he shouted to his brute of a henchman

Mark Coll only grunted. "See you soon Courtenay. And next time, I'll have your head."

The pair slipped into shadows and Blake and his father ran to the SUV placing Wyatt in the back seat with Scott and Cindy. Uncle Dennis sat in the driver's seat.

"Hop in quick. Thea just called. They've got trouble back at the house."


End file.
